Judas Kiss
by INMH
Summary: Minor, minor AU towards Frontierland. Crowley found that it was always good to have some dirt on his business partners. Castiel/Rachel. *Rated for Sexual content and language.


Judas Kiss

Rating: R/M (Sexual content)

Genre: Romance/Tragedy

Summary: Minor, minor AU towards that it was always good to have some dirt on his business partners. Castiel/Rachel.

Author's Note: YUP. Castiel/Rachel. It's one of my favorite SPN pairings, right up there with Balthazar/Fate, Dean/Bela and Gabriel/Kali. I actually, once again, had other (More PG/PG-13 rated) stories for this pairing in the works but, hey, this just happened to roll out faster.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. If I did, Rachel would not have suffered the same fate as SO MANY OTHER FEMALE CHARACTERS ON THIS SHOW.

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NOTE: FFnet decided to throw a new bit of fun my way, folks: It decided to remove the spaces before and after Crowley's name when I uploaded the story here. I fixed as many as I could see, but I might have missed some.

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Crowley did not trust Castiel.

He didn't trust anyone. Not demons (Obviously, because part of the job description was that you had to be an untrustworthy bastard), not humans (The Winchesters were surprisingly lucky for a pair so stupid), and certainly not angels, since they had been hunting demons from the time Lucifer had created them.

Crowley always found that the best way to keep his 'business associates' in line- when he so chose to take them- was to get a little dirt on them, something to keep them from getting too unwieldy. That was why he'd kept Bobby Singer's soul for as long as he had: As long as he'd had that soul under his thumb, Bobby and the Winchesters didn't try to touch him.

Unfortunately, there were a few small problems with trying to get dirt on an angel.

One, there was no one (that wouldn't turn Crowley into charcoal on sight) that he could go to for information. The angels would be the only ones who really knew anything worthwhile about Castiel, and they were either _on_ Castiel's side or on Raphael's, and Raphael was a bit too much of a prick for Crowley to try his luck with him.

Yet.

Two, Castiel was, in fact, an _angel_. Angels didn't really _do_ anything that bad. The worst of Castiel's offenses would probably be, to date, setting up an arrangement with Crowley, and he couldn't very well say "I'll tell your associates we've been working together", could he? Like the other angels would believe him anyway.

Three, Crowley was a demon. He couldn't get into heaven, which meant that he could only spy on Castiel when he was on earth which, quite frankly, was not often. And when he _was_ on earth, he was playing lap-dog to the Winchesters, who were currently under the impression that Crowley was dead.

He could threaten the Winchesters and Bobby Singer, but that was old hack. Castiel was expecting that. He was expecting a threat against their lives, and not just from Crowley, but Raphael, Lucifer, Michael, that little bitch Meg, hell; Even Atropos wanted a shot at them. Point being, a lot of people wanted those boys' heads on a pike, and he was well accustomed to having to watch out for them.

No, he needed something that Castiel was not expecting. Not necessarily _dirt_, but something he could whip out that would make those big blue eyes widen in shock and even fear, something that could and would get under Castiel's skin in a way that nothing else had.

Every time he concluded one of his little meetings with Castiel, Crowley pretended to dart away to places unknown. But really, he hung around for a little while longer, as long as Castiel was still there.

This was not only Crowley's attempt to dig up something juicy on the angel, but to take the opportunity to gauge his mental state and learn him a little better. After their meetings- provided he didn't flap off to heaven immediately after- Castiel would often sink down onto the nearest hard surface. His shoulders would slump, he would cover his eyes and suddenly become exhausted, weak, and almost- almost- defeated.

This was a side that Crowley never saw during their meetings. The mentality behind it was simple enough: It was perfectly acceptable to collapse behind closed doors, but never in front of your troops, allies or enemies. It was fine for Castiel to know that he was weary, but he couldn't let anyone else know. Especially not Crowley, who knew that the angel did not trust him as far as he could throw him (Maybe the wrong metaphor, as Castiel could, admittedly, probably hurl him a fair distance).

Castiel used those moments to brood, to worry, to tremble and shake and wonder if he was doing the right thing and if he was crazy to think that he could really defeat Raphael and not become a monster in the process. Rarely, he would pray and ask his Father for guidance, for a sign that he was doing things right. Crowley had never seen the use in crises of faith, even when he was human.

At the moment, Crowley was watching from a distance in the warehouse that he and Castiel had chosen for a meeting place (Abandoned buildings and storage facilities were popular, if not a touch cliché; you were less likely to be interrupted). He really wished that it was as easy to take a peek into an angel's mind as it was a human's, because that would solve his little dilemma nice and quickly.

He was just starting to contemplate leaving for the day- Castiel wasn't doing anything that he hadn't seen before- when suddenly the unmistakable flickering of lights and the flap of wings signaled the arrival of another angel. Castiel must have sensed who it was before she arrived, because he didn't even twitch when a woman appeared roughly in the spot that Crowley had vacated a little while before.

"Rachel," He greeted.

"Castiel," She greeted back.

The name stirred something dimly in Crowley's memory. She was an angel- obviously- but he was reasonably certain that Castiel might have mentioned her before. Ah, yes, he had: But it had been on accident. He had named Rachel as his lieutenant in one of their previous conversations, and the expression that had darted across his face afterwards had alerted Crowley that it was a slip-up, unintentional and regrettable.

At the time, Crowley had dismissed it as Castiel not wanting Crowley, for patent reasons, to know too much about his followers, the family that had stuck beside him. That street of distrust ran both ways, and Crowley did not doubt that Castiel was well-aware that the demon would love to get something on him, something to use against him.

"You have news?"

Rachel stepped forward, her hands folded neatly in front of her. "There was a skirmish between five of our own and about seven of Raphael's earlier." Castiel grimaced.

"What were the losses?"

But Rachel smiled. It was actually a very pretty smile. "None. Raphael's men were taken by surprise and wiped out; we didn't lose anyone."

Now Castiel smiled, and it was the first time that Crowley could ever recall him doing so. "That's wonderful news," He said, standing up and stepping towards Rachel. "We have much to be thankful for."

She nodded. "Indeed." But then the smile slipped from her face, and she frowned concernedly at her commander. "Castiel, are you all right? You looked… Unwell when I arrived."

Castiel's smile weakened a little, but did not disappear. "I'm fine. I was just… Thinking."

"Your 'thinking' face looks a lot like your 'tired' face."

What was this? An angel with something actually resembling a sense of humor? _Call the press_, Crowley thought dryly. He'd only met a few angels, but had thus far gleaned that humor was not one of their species' strong points.

Castiel sighed. "I'm fine."

"You're not. You're exhausted, Cas, from running back and forth between heaven and earth."

Crowley almost "Hmmed", but caught himself.

'Cas'? Not 'Castiel'?

That was interesting. Very interesting.

If he felt like getting caught, he might have pulled up a chair, poured a glass of wine and sat back to watch the show, which was becoming more and more interesting with every passing moment.

"I can handle it." But Rachel gave him a knowing look.

"You can't do everything, Cas. You need to rest eventually." It was then, and only then, that Crowley noticed that Rachel had put her hand on Castiel's arm, and was now gently rubbing it. He felt an obscene charge of glee run up his spine as he started to sense where this was going.

"I know. But there's still so much that needs to be done."

"I know." Rachel echoed. Castiel stared at her, and he just looked so _relaxed_, so at peace, almost dreamy. And then he took it a step further by bringing up his hand to rest it on her shoulder. They were very, very close to one another.

"Thank you for your concern, Rachel. It's good to know I have someone watching out for me."

"Always, Castiel." She responded. Crowley felt his stomach roil a little. This was like something out of a bad romance movie. If they were going to do something, they would have to do it fact, because if he had to listen to one more chorus of the best-friends song he was going to hurl.

But then Castiel leaned in and kissed Rachel, one, solitary word echoed through Crowley's mind:

_Jackpot._

Ooh, ooh, _ooh._

Cassie had a _girl-friend_.

All right, so they'd taken the long way around, waxing poetic about how much they meant to one another, but that was starting to melt into something that Crowley was far more familiar (and comfortable) with: Physical expressions of affection for someone else (That being, making out).

For a pair of angels that Crowley was reasonably certain were both still virgins, they certainly knew how to kiss. And grope. They were getting a little more passionate and, though Crowley was delighted at this newfound discovery, he wasn't certain he wanted to see exactly how far they would go with one another. He wasn't entirely confident that Castiel was horny enough to try and have sex with a woman he very clearly cared about in a dirty warehouse, but hey, he could be wrong.

()()()()()()()

Castiel should have known that this was too good to be true.

He should have known that his luck was just not good enough.

When he looked at Rachel, when she gave him that utterly sweet and faithful and loving smile, something inside him turned to mush, and he couldn't help but wonder if this was what those humans that he had previously condemned as 'lustful' had seen right before they had broken as well: A beautiful woman that they loved that might not object to exploring something deeper than what they had.

He was still a virgin, and was certain that she was as well.

When they kissed, his head spun, his vision went a little fuzzy, and he felt himself go weak at the knees (He'd heard Sam describe such an instance before, but hadn't realized how literal it was). His arms wrapped around her waist and felt so _right_ there, and now he believed he understood what it was that Dean had with Lisa, and what Sam had had with Jessica. This wonderful, unnamable thing that made him so, so happy.

Castiel moved his mouth from Rachel's and slid it down to her neck, nipping at the skin and kneading her skin through the jacket and shirt she wore with his hands. He felt her sigh and shivered himself, exhilarated and terrified all at once, because he had never done this before and neither had she and if this were a mere year or two ago they would have been horrified at such a lustful and sinful display.

_Fuck it._ He thought. Despite what some humans thought, having pre-marital sex wasn't enough to condemn you to hell.

Rachel's hands moved from his shoulders and down to his chest, fingers catching on the buttons, and from the way they lingered there he thought, he hoped, that she might have even been contemplating undoing them and removing his shirt.

_Don't be foolish,_ He scolded himself. _Don't be lustful. Rachel wouldn't contemplate something like that right now._

And then her hands found the bottom of his shirt, undid the button and slipped her hands inside to stroke his chest. Castiel shuddered.

_Or maybe she would. She's always been a fast learner._

Indeed, of all his followers, Rachel had been the one that had picked up the concept of free-thinking the fastest. Once he'd explained his story to her and made his case, she had been more than willing to give free will a try. She was his most loyal soldier, companion, friend, and always seemed to know when to speak up or shut up, when to smile or frown, when to object or keep her peace, and he loved her for it.

Rachel had always been prided on her virtue (primarily after an incident some millennia ago when she'd taken a very pretty young woman as her vessel and had encountered a less than pious man who had ended up being thrown out of a third-story window in Athens), but apparently was taking to sexuality the same way she had to freedom, and Castiel, his Father forgive him, was eager to see where and how far she was willing to go.

He unclamped his hands from around her waist and moved them to the front. Heart racing, hands shaking, Castiel undid the buttons of Rachel's vessel's jeans and, without giving it too much thought (lest he lose his nerve) slid his hand inside.

Rachel gasped, removed her hands from his chest and clutched at the shoulders of his jacket with a whimper, pressing her face into his neck. "C-C-Cas," She groaned. Castiel started to shake.

Rachel, as stated before, was a virgin. Ergo, she was not schooled in the way of sexual acts. Oh, she knew the mechanics of sex (it was a basic human trait that you learned about quickly enough when studying them), but not some of the other things that _could_ be done apart from traditional intercourse. Which meant that, since she wasn't asking him to stop or explain, she trusted Castiel fully and completely.

Castiel was both ecstatically happy and dreadfully nauseated at that.

He wanted her to trust him. He wanted her to _love_ him. But he also knew that every ounce of trust she put in him was being gradually betrayed as he continued to work with Crowley. When she found out- and he had a horrible, nasty feeling that she would, indeed, find out- she would be angry. She would be livid.

She would hate him.

Part of him that didn't want to make that betrayal any worse was telling him to put a stop to this. The deeper things between them got, the more painful it would be when she discovered what was going on, the worse the betrayal, and Castiel felt something horrible gnaw at his insides when he pictured the look that would likely be on her face when that betrayal was revealed.

And another part of him told that part to shut up and enjoy the fact that they were together and that she was currently unraveling in his arms. She didn't know now, didn't love him now, and that was all that mattered.

Father, where had his foresight gone?

She climaxed with a particularly sharp gasp, fingers knotting in the fabric of Jimmy Novak's trench coat as Castiel used his free arm to pull her closer, tighter, catching a glimpse of her face as he did so. She looked dazed with pleasure, so content and so, so glad to be there, with him.

He swallowed and prayed that he might be able to see it again before everything went to hell.

As Rachel began to come down from the high, Castiel rested his head against hers, entwining his fingers in her hair. His eyes wandered around lazily, without purpose, just rolling around until-

Castiel's breath caught somewhere between his throat and his lungs.

If he could pick any one person that he would _not_ want watching this moment, it would not be Dean, God, Lucifer, Balthazar or even Raphael.

It would be Crowley.

And damn it, there he was.

As soon as Crowley and Castiel locked eyes, the demon grinned a terribly foreboding grin at Castiel, his eyes glittering mischievously.

Rachel was completely oblivious to Crowley's presence. The demon wasn't the King of Hell for nothing, and was familiar with the practice of hiding his presence- in particular the smell of sulfur- from both humans and angels. She was also, quite probably, not as interested in her surroundings in that moment as she was Castiel. And the last thing he wanted was for her to suddenly become in tune with them and see what he saw, because Crowley would-

"Rachel," He pulled away from her gently, oh-so reluctantly, reaching down and subtly re-buttoning her jeans for her and straightening out her shirt, "I… Would you… Return to heaven and wait for me there? I'll be along soon, and perhaps you can help me… _Relax_ a little more?"

Rachel looked surprised at the request, perhaps not much so that he was suggesting they move it to another place, but that he was asking her to go alone and wait for him. All the same, though (And oh Father she was lovely when she was flustered), she nodded, breathlessly, and said "All right. In your preferred heaven, Castiel?"

"Yes. I'll be along presently. I just have to take care of one small matter first." If Rachel was curious about this 'one small matter' (And if Castiel knew her, she was _very_ curious), she did not remark on it. She stepped back, and a moment later, a gust of wind signaled her departure.

As soon as he was certain she was gone, Castiel barreled across the room and pinned Crowley to the wall by his throat. And oh, if Crowley didn't give him the most _shit-eating_ grin he had ever seen, (Including a few variations of that grin from Dean Winchester that would put many to shame).

"Mazeltov, Cas," Crowley cooed. "Was that your first time with your hand in a woman's naughty parts or did you ever indulge a little during the apocalypse?"

**_WHAM_**.

Lightning fast, Castiel had spun Crowley around and smashed him into a pile of tall, sturdy crates that shuttered warningly at the disturbance before going still again. He could tell that Crowley was a little dazed by the attack, but was otherwise unharmed. And even if he was, to him, to any demon this was just another in a long line of meat-suits; the poor sap didn't necessarily need to be alive for possession.

"You _son_ of a _bitch_." Castiel hissed.

"Now, now, Castiel," Crowley's voice may have been choked and raspy, but it was still composed. "No need to insult my mother. She was actually at a loss as to how I turned out so _bad_."

"_Why_ were you watching?" Crowley snorted.

"Why? Because I've found, through dozens of partnerships, that it's always wise to have something on your other half, Castiel. A little something for me to whip out if you should ever renege. Someone's throat to hold a sword to, so to speak."

Castiel's eyes were blazing, and the lights in the room began to flicker on and off sporadically. He was losing control over his temper, and his surroundings reacted accordingly. Even through his anger, he could see out the windows of the warehouse that the sky was growing very, very dark, and the distant rumble of thunder could be heard. If he wasn't careful, someone- namely Raphael- might find him.

But at the moment, that seemed to be a very, very distant risk, because all he could think about was the threat that Crowley had just made against Rachel's life. There was a monster in his head that was shrieking and howling and roaring and clawing and wanting to tear Crowley limb from limb.

"You won't." Castiel said coldly, menacingly.

"And why not?"

"Because if you ever so much as _look_ at her," Castiel growled, "I will _tear_ your _rotting_ and _blackened_ heart from your _chest_."

"Good idea," Crowley said mildly, even as Castiel's grip grew tighter. "Then you'll get to watch _Raphael_ cut her throat when you lose your little pissing match, won't you?"

Castiel's face went blank.

Because it was, in all seriousness, very true: Without Crowley's little scheme to get to Purgatory and all the souls within, there was still a large chance that Castiel could lose the war. And if he did, everyone who had followed him would be slaughtered- Starting with Rachel, his steadfast lieutenant. Raphael may not know the depth of their relationship, but they _were_ friends, and he knew that well enough. He would make her suffer in ways that Crowley, who was not an angel and did not know their unique methods of torture, could never even dream of.

Every instinct in Castiel told him to end this now, now while he still had a chance, because now the stakes were higher. This was a direct threat against Rachel, and not because she was loyal to him, not because she was a good soldier, but because she had something special with Castiel that could be manipulated.

But the sensible side of him knew that Crowley's threat would only come to fruition if Castiel did something to spite him. If Raphael won the war, then his fate, as well as Rachel's, was set in stone.

He put Crowley down and, without another word, disappeared.

()()()()()()()

Rachel was starting to suspect.

She and Castiel had been friends for a long, long time. They had traveled to earth together many times before coming to earth and taking vessels had been banned to them and the others. They had explored humanity and their odd little quirks, the likes of which differed greatly from the quirks of modern day humans.

Castiel was a good soldier. A good angel. A good _person_. Only now, with free will and a mind of her own could Rachel see the depth of what Castiel had done for them. He had rebelled, made an enemy of himself to everything he held dear, and was now fighting to make sure that his brothers and sisters were able to choose for themselves what they would be and how they would act.

And Rachel loved him for that. She loved his dedication to those who stood beside him, to those he held dear. She loved the bravery he showed in standing against an archangel to defend this new truth that he had found. And most of all, she loved that he was still the compassionate, sweet-natured Castiel that she had fought alongside for the length of her existence.

But something wasn't right.

Rachel knew that Castiel came to earth to help his friends the Winchesters. She was irritated with them, more than just a little, because they called to Castiel a lot and didn't seem to understand that Castiel might have more pressing issues to contend with (Like, say, stopping a fellow angel from taking a sword to his neck). They always called for him and asked favors, and Castiel just didn't seem to have the heart to tell his friends "No" or "Hold on a minute".

But that wasn't what had her suspicious.

He went to earth for the Winchesters, yes. But Rachel was finding that Castiel was disappearing at odd times with no feasible explanation- Not that she grilled him on it. A simple "Where were you?" and he would say "Earth," and she would say "Oh," and that would be the end of it.

But she had noticed something. When he was being called by the Winchesters, he usually notified someone as to where he would be. And then, if someone didn't know where he'd been when he got back, he would say "The Winchesters needed my help." During these other trips to earth, Castiel told no one when and where he was going and gave just as little information upon coming back.

Something was wrong because Castiel was not secretive, not with his troops and especially not with her. Rachel could not imagine what it might be that Castiel was keeping quiet, something that he obviously did not want her or anyone else knowing about. It made her feel uneasy knowing that something was big enough and potentially bad enough for him not to want to tell her.

He had told her when he'd found out that Balthazar was alive again, had informed her of his attempts to bring Balthazar back to their side and get the weapons back from him. She hadn't approved of that: Balthazar was her witty brother, and she loved him, but he had also left them high and dry in the midst of a civil war with an _archangel. _When Balthazar had finally done so, thereby bringing him back to their side, Rachel had been critical of Castiel's decision to let him back, no harm no foul, but even then Castiel had told her everything and been truthful.

So what was so bad now that he felt that he couldn't tell her? Something worse than re-admitting a practical traitor and duly named coward to their ranks? Maybe it was this angelic naïveté (As Balthazar so dubbed it) that was blocking her ability to imagine the worst-case scenario here.

Rachel loved Castiel, and wanted to trust him so, so badly. But he was hiding something, and on the chance that it might mean trouble for him or their cause, she needed to find out what. She dared to hope that it might not be as bad as she thought, and if so, she might be able to relieve whatever burden he was carrying.

It didn't take long, though, before that hope was dashed.

The day she stood in that room with the Winchester brothers and their friends and chastised them for calling Castiel only when they needed something from him, when she'd been venting a bit of frustration towards them and their attitudes and Castiel came and called her off, she had noticed.

Angels did not have "Super-senses", but their senses _were_ more potent than a human's. And as Rachel stood maybe three or four feet away from Castiel, she was startled upon smelling a smell that was both familiar and pungent: Sulfur. The slight wind created by his wings as he arrived had even blown the smell towards her.

Rachel had frozen, had hesitated, taken unawares by both his unexpected arrival and the odor clinging to his jacket. The kind of smell that came from a demon. And this wasn't a smell you picked up just because you fought a demon or ran into one.

This was a smell picked up when you've spent a long time in close proximity to a demon.

Castiel had left heaven a few hours earlier, and Rachel had promised that if anything of import happened, she would take care of it. Including any calls from the Winchester brothers.

Now her stomach jumped into her throat, and she wondered where he'd been.

And more importantly, who he'd been with.

"I told you I'd take care of this."

"It's all right. You can go." She saw the disapproving gaze he shot at her, and she knew that he was angry with her for brow-beating his friends. She gave him a disbelieving look back.

"You're _staying?_" These idiots needed to learn a lesson in patience, and all Castiel was teaching them was that he would always come when they called. But what would happen to them on the day that he couldn't?

"_Go._" Castiel glared at her, and she pulled back, mouth tight. If he kept indulging them like this, they would push him until he broke, and heaven knew she did not want to see him break. He had enough on his shoulders already without these petty, entitled little brats adding to it. Castiel sensed her irritation, and his voice softened. "I'll come when I can."

Rachel stared at him a moment longer.

_You do that, Castiel,_ She thought. _And while you play babysitter to the humans, I'm going to get to the bottom of this little secret of yours._

She disappeared.

When on earth, Castiel was capable of hiding his exact location from anyone who happened to be looking, including Raphael. However, she had a general idea as to where he had been: She had a hundred-mile radius that put him, most likely, in Missouri, though also possibly northern Arkansas or the corners of Oklahoma or Kansas. Angels left traces of energy where they went, traces that disappeared over time; but the longer an angel stayed in one place, the stronger that signature energy was.

Rachel found the place that Castiel had lingered in: A rundown brick building in Evergreen, Missouri. Her unease increased when it occurred to her that this seemed like _exactly_ the kind of place a demon might shack up in between violent murders and possessions. She couldn't sense anyone inside, but that didn't mean that there wasn't anyone there.

Rachel lingered in the doorway for a moment, hesitant, wondering if a lone angel wandering into a demon's haunt might not be incredibly stupid and/or suicidal. But it wasn't as though she could call for backup, right?

As she entered, her certainty that there were demons here only increased. It seemed that the building was an abandoned prison, rusted and moldy and reeking of filth and misery. The halls were lined with cells, but when she inspected them, she found that many of them were filled with blood and excrement- _fresh_ blood and excrement, not the kind you would otherwise find in an abandoned prison.

It was as though as soon as she entered the prison, she could hear and smell things that she hadn't been able to from outside. There were noises that sounded distinctly like voices, like screams, and they echoed through the halls. There were people here, yes, really people and not human spirits, because spirits didn't sound so… _Solid_.

Rachel pulled out her sword and held it down by her side.

What would Castiel be doing in a God-forsaken place like this? What business could he possibly have here? If Castiel had been killing demons here, why hadn't he told anyone, and why were there, evidently, still some left alive? She pushed open the door when she reached the end of the hall, only to find another stretch of hall with more cells, these also filled with bodily fluids of an unpleasant nature.

And something else.

Rachel paced over to one of the cells, the third down from the door, and peered inside. There seemed to be something on the floor, something fleshy and wet. Rachel gripped the door to the cell and, with little effort, forced it open, wincing when the sound of the rusted and heavy door screeched loudly. She hesitated for a moment, waiting to see if she could hear anyone coming to investigate the sound.

When she heard only those distant screams and her own, soft breath, Rachel stepped into the cell and approached the strange object, kneeling down beside it. She squinted against the dim lighting, studying, before realizing that it was, in fact, _flesh._ The kind of flesh that was left behind when someone was skinned.

"Shapeshifter."

The proximity of the voice was maybe four or five feet behind her, and Rachel jumped to her feet and raised her sword. Standing on the other side of the narrow hallway across from the cell door was a dark haired, dark eyed man with what seemed to be a British accent with a hint of Scottish or Irish.

"Nasty fellow: My boys rounded him up somewhere in the boonies of New Hampshire, causing all sorts of mayhem. Of course, he's no trouble to anyone now." He pushed himself off the wall. "I don't believe we've been introduced: My name's Crowley, King of Hell, of the Crossroads, etcetera, etcetera."  
>"<em>You're<em> Crowley?" Rachel had heard of him. Of course she'd heard of him. He was one of the bigger demon names out there. When he took another step forward, though, almost blocking the door of the cell, she raised her sword a little higher and glared warningly at him.

"Re-lax," Crowley said with an air of surprising casualness, both hands in his pockets and an expression of absolute calm on his face. There was no tension about him, not even slightly. "I wouldn't hurt you; you're one of Castiel's friends, right? Rachel, I think?" His eyes locked with hers as he waited for her response.

Rachel was stunned. "How, precisely, does Castiel factor into this?" She kept her voice hard and her sword up. Crowley didn't look bothered at all, though.

"Oh, come on now, darling: We've been giving each other boosts for almost a year now. He protects my sorry ass, I supply him with souls for you lot to fight your little war with."

Rachel's eyes widened, and Crowley blinked.

"Oops," Crowley's eyes widened innocently. "Goodness- You _did_ know where he was getting his fire-power from, didn't you? I mean, you may live in heaven, but it's not like souls just drop from the skies, right?"

Rachel's eyes narrowed sharply. "I don't believe you."

And she didn't want to. Dear Father, she didn't want to. There was no way. Not after everything that had happened. There was no way that Castiel would ever cross a line like that, especially for the likes of _Crowley_, the type of demon that prided himself on corrupting the souls of the innocent and damning them to hell. Crowley who, even in heaven, was famed for his trickery and deception.

Surely Castiel was not fighting their war with _his_ backing.

"Don't you? Oh, right: I'm a demon, you're an angel, we're enemies, right, right, right." Crowley nodded his understanding. "Of course, if you don't believe me, you _could_ always ask Castiel, right? _He_ certainly wouldn't lie to you, would he?"

Rachel was suddenly aware of her chest rising and falling at an alarming rate. On a technicality, she had never directly confronted Castiel about what he'd been doing, so no, he had never actually _lied_ to her. But lying by omission of the truth, at least by her reckoning, was just as bad.

"Stay away from him." Rachel said hollowly. "I mean it." Crowley smiled, and she could see the sarcasm in it.

"Of course, dear. I always do. He's the one that comes to me, though, so you might want to tell _him_ to stay away from me."

"You're tricking him." Rachel could feel her vessel's blood pounding in her ears. "You're deceiving him somehow. You would never help an angel unless you had something else in store for him and for the Host at the end."

Crowley's smile widened. "Maybe I don't," He said with a shrug. "Or maybe I do. All the same, Rachel, Cas is more than a little desperate to win that war of yours, and he knows the only way he has a hope to do so is by working with me. So if you have such a problem with it…" He tilted his head to the side.

"I suppose you'll have to stop him yourself."

()()()()()()()

All right, so Castiel hadn't done anything to break contract.

In his defense, Crowley didn't hurt Rachel at all:

What she decided to do from that point on had nothing to do with him.

()()()()()()()

In the aftermath of the fight, after watching the light leave Rachel's eyes and her grace explode and evaporate like a supernova, Castiel laid on Bobby Singer's couch, silent and morose, and recalled that in every scenario in which Rachel discovered his betrayal, it was she that walked away alive and him that was left dead and bloody in a pile of ashes.


End file.
